Connection
by Twisha
Summary: Despite never having met, two people in the 'verse share a strange connection. Set entirely in the Firefly 'Verse, no slash, no time travel. Reviews are shiny! Chapter 7: Induction
1. Gunslinger

Richard Castle was having the time of his life. Not only was he a ruggedly handsome, wildly popular, and stunningly successful author of historical fiction, but now he was also one half of a powerful crime-fighting duo and partnered with an amazingly beautiful and intelligent detective who had (grudgingly) agreed to be his muse.

Plus he was holding a gun.

It was a real gun too, bullets and all, not one of those wimpy stun guns the civil defense force used or even one of the swanky laser pistols that were not strictly legal but seemed to be everywhere among the well to do of New New York. As he stared down the site of the pistol at the holographic target, with his muse flush against his back no less, it occurred to Richard Castle that this must be what Heaven was like. Now all he had to do was hit the damn target.

When they had told him that Beckett had gone to the shooting range to blow off steam (and how sexy was that?), he had high-tailed it down there as fast as he could.

To ask her about the photos.

Yeah, that was it.

He had flirted, of course, given her a hard time about targets being easier to hit if they were standing still or something. She had given him that look, and all of a sudden his bluff was called. The gun was surprisingly heavy in his hand, something real and frighteningly permanent in the all too ethereal world of Londinium. Then she had touched him and the damn thing went off, bullet skittering off into the darkness, far wide of the target.

"Shot too soon", he'd quipped.

"That's ok Castle, we can always just cuddle".

God she was hot.

He really did want the photos. Then he could show them to his contact and maybe get some sort of lead on this. He wanted to catch this guy, not just to impress the girl, (although he hoped she would be impressed), but because it was right. It was Justice. That's what he loved the most about working with Beckett, more than the thrill (which was considerable), and even more than the inspiration she provided. When he worked with Kate, they got the bad guys.

Who stuffs a person in a safe, anyway?

So she had challenged him, three shots at the ten ring. One would get him access. Unfortunately, he was beginning to realize that as far as gunplay was concerned, he kinda sucked. The gun jumped, and his muscles ached, and the bullets just would not go where he wanted them. He needed those photos.

For Justice.

His eyes found the target and he raised the weapon. Something washed over him then, something strange and a little frightening. His shoulders relaxed, his arm stilled, and the target seemed to fill his vision. He felt confident, and strong, as if he had done this hundreds of times before. Time slowed to a crawl. Between one heartbeat and the next, three shots rang out, and the ten ring sported a single hole.

He blinked.

What The Hell?

Then Beckett was congratulating him and he said something smart-alecky about her being a good teacher or some such but his brain remained stunned. What had happened? How had he done that? It was pretty badass, he had to admit. He just couldn't seem to shake the utterly unsettling feeling that, in that moment, he had not been Rick Castle at all. He had been Someone Else. And that scared the everliving Hell out of him.

Somewhere, far out in the black, Malcolm Reynolds turned over in his bunk.

Please review! This is only my second story and I know I'm not that good but this idea grabbed a hold of me one night and would not let go. Even if you don't like the writing could you at least tell me what you think of the idea? There's more where this came from. Thanks for reading.


	2. Spring

Disclaimer: Me no own!

Author's note: After taking a detour in "On the Way to the Valley", here is the second part of my story "Connection". Please tell me what you think.

* * *

Trying desperately to catch her breath, Rina huddled against the back wall of the tiny cave. She hadn't the foggiest idea how the purplebellies had gotten behind them, much less how any of her platoon had escaped with their lives. Hell, she wasn't even sure what side of the Valley they had ended up on. One thing she knew for certain was that her new Sergeant was certifiably insane.

"What is this 'Verse coming to Zoe, when a man can't mount an unauthorized search-and-rescue mission to save a platoon trapped behind enemy lines during a tactical retreat without it going all to hell?"

"I wouldn't know sir. That usually falls under your area of expertise."

He chuckled. "That it does Zoe, that it does." He switched to his command voice before barking, "OK, listen up! Everybody get good and comfortable because it looks like we're gonna be here awhile. Most of y'all know me. I'm Malcolm Reynolds."

"How's your nut Sarge?" someone she didn't recognize yelled from the darkness.

"My nut is just shiny Earlman, my heart, however, is a bit bruised from hearing that my favorite platoon got themselves into a firefight without me," Mal said.

"Not our fault you got yourself thrown in the med tent before the battle even started, Sir!" someone else said.*

"I suppose that's the truth of it," Mal conceded. A few chuckles bounced off of the walls. He grew serious. "Did anybody see what happened to the Lieutenant?"

"Which half of him?" Rina croaked, unable to erase the image of Chang's bisected body splattered across the clearing.

"Well, that answers that question," Mal replied. "Now I ain't fond of speakin ill of the dead, but really, it couldn't have happened to a nicer guy." Rina could hear the grin in his voice. What a wacko. When he began asking about supplies, she tuned his voice out. She didn't have anything. Unfortunately, that caused her to focus on the entirely too large piece of metal sticking out beneath her collarbone. As the adrenaline wore off, her pain began to grow. She failed to notice his approach. She had to suppress a gasp when he addressed her directly.

"You must be new," he said, much more gently than before. "What's your name?"

"Rina," she breathed.

"Now that's a right pretty name," he said, kneeling beside her. "You're from the Core ain't ya?"

She nodded tightly, even though she was pretty sure he couldn't see it. "New New York, on Londinium."

"Yeah, I figured it'd be somethin like that." She couldn't hold back the small scream when he patted her on the shoulder.

"Gorramn it girl, you're hurt ain't ya?" he swore. "Zoe, get the med kit over here!"

She finally gives into the urge to pass out.

* * *

It was still dark when she came to. The temperature had dropped considerably and there was something wrapped tight around her left shoulder. Her back was pressed against something warm and solid, and her stomach roiled as her thoughts turned to Chang. Why wouldn't he just leave her alone? Figuring it was better just to get it over with, she turned her head to meet his scaly lips with a kiss.  
The lips she met were quite a bit softer, and a surprised squeak came from them that Chang could never have managed.

"Darlin', whatinGodsnamedoyathinkyerdoin?" not-Chang sputtered.

She blinked. Oh right, Chang, the clearing, all that blood, Sargent Mal. Wait, what? "What are _you_ doing sir?" she asked.

She could feel the full body blush overtake him, but he didn't let her go. "Well, uh, ya see...you've been out a long time, and it was gettin' kinda cold and you bein' such a little wisp of a thing, and hurt besides..." he gulped and started again, gaining a bit of composure in the process. "We can't light a fire, obviously, so I had everyone double up to stay warm." he finished, nodding towards several dark shapes littered about the cave.

"Let me guess," she said dryly, "nobody wanted to partner up with me?"

"I think it's more like they forgot, you bein' so quiet and all," he consoled. Nervously he asked, "If it makes you uncomfortable, I can get Zoe..."

"No, thank you." she stated. After a short pause she placed her right hand on his thigh and offered, "Are you sure you don't want me to..."

He tensed and the sputtering came back, "Good Lord girl! What makes you think I'd want..." she heard him lock his jaw as he worked it out. "Chang," he said, followed by a long string of Chinese, she didn't quite catch the individual words, but she could certainly draw some meaning from his tone.

He was furious.

"I'm sorry!" she said, frightened. "I didn't mean-I know it's against the rules-I just thought that..." She struggled to get up.

"Darlin', it ain't you I'm mad at" he said. He took a deep breath, calming somewhat. "That hudan is just lucky he's already dead is all." He ran a free hand through his hair. "How old are ya anyway?"

"18," she said immediately.

He shook his head. "I ain't your recruiting officer, and you ain't gonna get in trouble; so tell me, how old are you really?"

"15," she whispered.

"Thought that might be it." He didn't seem to notice that he had started patting her hair. She didn't mind. "How didja make it all the way out here?"

"My parents thought I should be a Companion," she explained. "I disagreed. A man I used to babysit for helped me get off world. He even gave me some money to get me started, although most of that was stolen. You remind me of him a bit."

"How so?"

"He was a good man."

"Oh," was all he said.

They sat in silence for a while, until a sharp wind ripped it's way through the cavern. She tried to cuddle closer to him without jarring her shoulder. She almost managed it.

"I thought it was supposed to be springtime here," she said. "They don't really have seasons on Londinium, is it supposed to be this cold?"

"Well, Hera's a cold world, and it's early yet." He sighed. "Not like where I'm from."

"Tell me about it?" she pleaded, sounding more like a little girl than she had in a long time.

"Well," he began, adopting the cadence of a natural storyteller, "my world...has a steep axial tilt. Almost thirty degrees, so the seasons were pretty distinct from one another. When it was winter, you knew it was winter and Summer couldn't have been anything else." He smiled. "Spring, on the other hand, spring was a thing of beauty. After three long months of blizzards and ice storms, spring came like a gift from heaven. The whole face of the world was reborn. The air was so warm and soft that you hardly needed clothes, even at night. There was this one time, when I was fourteen..." he stopped and shook his head. "No, I shouldn't tell you that. That story is wildly inappropriate."

"I won't tell anybody," she teased.

"Well..." he pretended to consider it. "Alright, but, I don't want to be hearin' it from some stranger in the mess tent a week after we get back though, dong ma?"

She giggled, then nodded.

"I'll hold you to that, girly," he threatened playfully. "See, I grew up on a ranch, cattle mostly. It was just me and my Ma so we had to hire help. Some of the hands were full grown, but a few weren't much older n'myself. I looked up to them a bit more than was exactly wise, and one night they convinced me to sneak a jug of my Mom's best apple brandy from outta the root cellar.

She grinned. "They got you drunk." It wasn't really a question.

"As a skunk," he confirmed. "I don't quite recall whose idea it was to remove our clothing, but I do remember it was Kirkland who dared me to ride the horse."

"You didn't."

"I did." he replied. "We didn't have many horses but there was this one old bugger, mean as sin he was. We called him Red, on account of his temper."

"What happened?" she breathed.

"I made it nearly half a mile afore he bucked me off," he paused for effect,"right into the largest patch of blackberry bushes on the whole damn ranch." He snorted.

"I don't understand," she said, thoroughly confused,"wouldn't that break your fall?"

"Bein' from the Core, I can see how you would think so," he said, "but you see Darlin', blackberry bushed don't just have berries on em, they are also covered in thousands of tiny thorns. Not only did it take me most of the night, but also it cost me a good part of my hide to get free."

She laughed hard enough to pull at her wound. It had been a long time since she had laughed like that. She felt his deep chuckles reverberating in his chest. She couldn't remember a time when she had felt so safe. "What happened then?"

"By the time I made it back to the house, the sun was already up...and so was my Mother. She told me later that she had never seen a sorrier creature her whole lifelong than me dragging my gangly ass up that porch. She didn't even have the heart to whup me." He shook his head at the memory. "Kirkland didn't get off so easy."

"What happened to Red?" she wondered.

He sighed. "He'd never go near me after that, not that I blame him. He was still kickin' about the ranch when I left."

"Well, maybe he'll forgive you when you see him again."

He stiffened behind her and said quietly, "That ain't like to happen, not in this 'Verse anyway."

The realization struck her like a mag-lift train. "You're from Shadow," she gasped.

He nodded sadly.

"And your family?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Every last one," he whispered.

Her heart ached for the man. She knew what it was like to lose almost everything, but her grief was nothing compared to his. Her parents, her home, still existed somewhere, even if she could never set foot there again. She had never considered that a comfort until now.

She couldn't help but ask, "How do you bear it?"

He took a deep breath. "I gotta tell you girly, it ain't easy." His hand fingered something at his neck. "See, I figure that Shadow was just too damn perfect to exist in this 'Verse. When it...died...God musta just swept it up whole and added it to heaven, and that's where they all are, my Ma, Kirkland, even old Red." His voice only cracked a little when he said, "and it's always spring."

"I think I'd like to go there when I die," she said wistfully, her eyelids drooping.

"The last thing she heard was his voice saying, "I'm sure you will darlin'. I'm sure you will."

* * *

Zoe found Mal curled around the girl's body some hours later. He hadn't slept, that much was obvious. She could have chastised him for doing this to himself, again. She told him last night that the girl was dyin', and at least he had had the sense not to argue. It hadn't kept him from cradling her like his own babe all through the long night. She could have pointed out the pointlessness of it, how he needed his strength for the days ahead...but she didn't. Mal was Mal, just about the stubbornest sumnabitch in the 'Verse, and nothing she said was ever gonna change that.

All she said was "It'll be dawn soon."

"Get the men together," he ordered, pocketing the girl's dog tags before scrambling to his feet. "Let's get the hell out of here." He turned his attention back to the girl. Bending down, he placed a chaste kiss on her temple. She thought she heard him whisper, "Say hello to Red for me."

But it could have been her imagination.

* * *

When Beckett asked Richard Castle what had possessed him to steal a parade horse and ride it through the streets of New New York, sans clothing no less, he really didn't know what to tell her. Should he mention the horrible nightmare of Alexis' old babysitter bleeding to death in the dark? Or that he had spent the next three months in the guild hospital, not having any idea if his heart was just going to decide to stop beating? The docs never did figure out what had triggered his fight-or-flight response, or why it had lasted so long. He had lost nearly fifty pounds that time. He couldn't tell her any of that, so he told her what he had told the feds when they had caught up with him, completely out of his mind.

"It was Spring," he said.

And that seemed to be enough.

* * *

*If you want to find out what happened to Mal to get him into the med tent, read my other story. He doesn't remember a bit of it though.

* * *

The review button is right there (V), staring at you. You know you want to. Everybody's doing it. Go on, click it. ;)


	3. Breath

I did it again, this is too long for a one shot but I promised purplangel that I would post something tonight, so here it is. It didn't turn out the way I had planned, but I'm pretty happy with it. Tell me what you think!

* * *

Detective Kate Beckett is, generally, a rather somber individual. She has spent the better part of the last decade fighting for the families of crime victims and the rights of the falsely accused. She manages to remain utterly calm in the most dire of situations. Now, however, it's taking everything she has to keep from laughing in his face.

"It ain't funny Beckett!" he says, clearly furious.

She loses it, dissolving into giggles. He's right, it isn't funny. It's hilarious, and Kate hasn't laughed this hard in a long, long time. Sure, she's a little drunk (though no more than he is), and on top of the "just solved a case" high she's feeling precious little pain. This new situation has pushed her over the edge.

Richard Castle, wordsmith extraordinaire, fumes in his overglorified hospital bed. He crosses his arms aggressively as she studies him. He's breathing a little fast and his face is flushed, but otherwise he seems fine, until he opens his mouth that is.

"I ain't never gonna live this one down, am I?" he blurts, as his eyes go wide in horrified embarrassment. "Gorramnit!" he curses. She tries to catch her breath but it's very difficult.

"Was that a double-negative, Mr. Castle?" she manages.

"I. Can. Not. Help. It." he says, careful to enunciate each word.

Any suspicion that he's faking this fades as he clenches his jaw. He only does that when he is well and truly pissed. Maybe this isn't as funny as it seems. "Seriously Castle," she says, "are you ok?"

"I reckon I am," he replies, all but daring her to laugh. "My heart rate's still up, and I'm breathin' faster than usual but it don't seem to be gettin' worse." He huffs and glares at her. He sighs and marginally relaxes. "At least I'm conscious this time," he mutters.

"This time?" Kate asks, her curiosity overcoming her amusement. He nods. "What is wrong?" she continues.

A smooth as silk voice wafts into the room, followed by the most beautiful woman Kate has ever seen. "He has Dysautonomia," the newcomer asserts. "Although, the foreign accent syndrome is still a bit of a mystery."

"Where's that 'doctor-paitent confidentiality' stuff you folk are always goin' on about?" he muses. His words are harsh but his tone, teasing.

"You signed the waivers, did you not?" she says. The woman flashes a sensual grin in the author's direction that puts Kate's teeth on edge. She flows elegantly across the floor and pulls Castle in to an entirely too friendly embrace. Her skin is the color of the coffee Castle brings her every morning. Kate's wiling to bet that it feels softer than the finest satin. There are few women in the 'verse who can make Kate Beckett self-conscious, but every single one she's met has been a Companion.

Damn it.

And now he's talking again, in that ridiculous accent. "Kate, I'd like you to meet the Companion Amrapali Bimar. She's a _vejja_, a doctor, and she's been treatin' me on and off for goin' on ten years now." Castle returns the Companion's smile and adds a salacious wink, clearly insinuating that her "treatment" has been more than medicinal. Kate rolls her eyes.

The vejja switiches to a clinical tone of voice as she waves some instrument in front of Castle's chest. "Let's check your vitals over the past week, shall we?" Kate shoots him a questioning look as the Companion adjusts some things on the device.

"I've got an implant," he supplies. "It monitors my blood pressure and pulse and the like."

As the doctor plugs the device into the wall, the bare expanse comes alive with data. It doesn't make much sense to Kate, but Amra scrutinizes each detail with an intensity Kate reseves for her murder holoboards. "You've been doing very well Richard!" the dark skinned woman gushes. "Have you been keeping up with your meditation?"

"Every night," Castle answers, "or I catch hell from my daughter".

Kate tries to imagine Castle meditating and finds she can't do it, mainly because it involves sitting still for extended periods of time, something she's never seen him do in the three years she's known him.

He curses suddenly, "_Ching-wah TSAO duh liou mahng_!"

She glances over her shoulder and is greeted by the sight of him hunched over with a hand pressed to his left side, pain evident in every line of his face.

"Rick?" she says, alarmed, and takes a half step towards him. He gasps and lurches into a standing position, his eyes unfocused. "What the hell is the matter with him?" she yells as the wall comes alive with activity.

The vejja snaps into action. "What does it look like he's doing?" she snaps, as she sticks her head out the door and yells for a crash cart. "He's dying. Help me lay him down!" she yells.

Kate is frozen to the spot. "Shenme?" she asks, stupidly.

"He didn't tell you did he?" the other woman says.

Before she can answer, Castle's head snaps up. His voice is rough as he answers the companion's question.

"We can already see I haven't."

Then he slams face first, on to the floor.

* * *

_Ching-wah TSAO duh liou mahng_: Frog-Humping Son of a Bitch

Shenme: What?

So we're finally getting to the actual episodes! Can anyone guess what Mal's up to right now?


	4. Breath Part 2

Disclaimer: I own neither Castle nor Firefly.

A/N: Ok, I apologize for how short this is but I really needed to show what happened during Castle's fit before they talked about it. It took longer than I expected. I know it doesn't advance the story much, but I don't have the energy to write their conversation tonight. I do have it planned out so I should have it written in the next few days. Until then, I hope you guys enjoy this little snippet!

* * *

Kate Beckett doesn't know what to feel as she watches her partner fight for his life.

Terror is there, certainly. She hadn't been kidding when she had told him that she had gotten used to him. If she were to be honest (for once), she'd gotten quite a bit more than used to him.

But mostly, she is just pissed.

Incredibly pissed.

Because there is no one in the 'verse who can piss her off quite like Richard Castle.

And she is pissed, she _is_. It's anger that is causing the tremble in her hands and the sick twisting in her gut, and if he would just wake up, she'd tell him so.

He looks so small, lying there in that overglorified hospital bed, so still silhouetted against those silk sheets. The craftmanship of the restraints has not protected him, and his wrists are rubbed raw. His chest rises and falls much too slowly to her mind, but that's better than the gasping she witnessed not an hour before.

Damn it, she almost lost him.

Her mind replays the images over and over, the struggle to get him on the bed, the scream of the instruments as his body goes berserk, the litany of curse words he spews at them, in both English and Chinese, some of which even she hasn't heard before.

Why the hell would anyone want to "fuck the universe to death" anyway?

He kept trying to get up, yelling and then pleading that he needed to "fix her". He favored his left side, as if it pained him, but that didn't prevent him from ripping his robe open as he struggled. She grins a little at the memory. Even in such dire circumstances, Rick Castle can't pass up a chance to get naked.

Not that she minds.

Much.

The vejjae* have been very professional, and have earned her grudging respect. They watched Castle like a hawk and she is certain that they have saved his life several times over. She does wish that they didn't look quite so perfect doing so but...

Castle moans, the first sound she's heard from him in over an hour. Her heart leaps.

"Come on back to me Castle," she whispers, taking one of his hands into her own. She fails to keep the tremor out of her voice. His head turns towards her and he slowly opens his eyes.

"Did I go somewhere?" he mumbles, drunkenly, his face even more childishly open than usual.

He's back, and she's NOT crying, because she is not the kind of girl who gets weepy over any man, even Richard Castle, but she does smile. She'd been so worried, not only that he might die, but also about who he might be when he woke up. She's seen a lot of eyes in her time, but none have matched Castle's. They somehow manage to be both innocent and sexy at once and she's never been so glad to see anything in her entire life. They've lost that cold, hard, almost dead look that they took on during his fit. Those eyes belonged to someone else entirely.

He tries to reach out to her and is stopped by the ornate cuffs. He stares at them blankly for a long moment before uttering a single word.

"Kinky," he says.

And there's the twelve year old again. She can't even bring herself to roll her eyes.

Of course, his wit returns.

"How long was I out?" he asks, as if this happens to him all the time, and maybe it does, but that means he's hidden it from her and now she's angry. Again.

"What the hell was that Castle?" she explodes. He flinches and does his best to look innocent. Unfortunately for him, his movement dislodges the sheet that the vejja wrapped him in.

He is still naked.

* * *

I've been wrangling this all week, I even worked on it on my birthday! That means that every one of you needs to leave me a nice, shiny review for my birthday, right? Or you could read some of my other stories and review them, I'm not picky. Yes, I'm abandoning all shame at this point, why do you ask? ;)

Seriously, I love you guys. I'm amazed and humbled at the number/quality of reviews I've received. If you've left me a review and I haven't thanked you, I'm sorry. You guys keep me writing!

* * *

*I have no real knowledge of this language, I simply looked up the term on the internet and liked the way it sounded. I have no clue how to properly pluralize it, but I figured that languages have melded enough in 500 years that the -ae plural might be accepted. That's my rationalization, and I'm sticking to it.


	5. Breath Part 3

Disclaimer: *checks* Nope, still not mine.

A/N Yay! I updated! It's even a decent length as well. Go me! This chapter really earns the T rating, because of frank discussions of a sexual nature. If that bugs you, well, I apologize, but it's integral to the story. I'm going to stop spouting puns now and get on with the chapter. ;)

* * *

Like everything here, the garden is lovely. It's enclosed by the Companion house and dotted with exquisitely crafted fountains that babble in an annoyingly calming manner. Above, the stars of Londinium soundless retreat as dawn approaches.

Kate Beckett sighs. It's been one hell of a night.

All she wants, at the moment, is to finish the third sake that delightful young man has brought her and to keep herself from dwelling on a certain image that has become seared into her brain.

But when has she ever gotten what she wants?

_In her mind, she sees the slow slip of the silken sheet across his body, coiling in a pile on the shining hardwood. He is still naked, and he is **very** happy to see her._

_There is a LONG silence. _

_She can't take her eyes off him. He's well built, with only a little extra padding here and there that she would love to get her hands on...He's more muscular than she'd imagined, and she blushes crimson at the thought. Forcing her eyes to his face, she notices that he's not even blushing. Typical Castle, he's lying there on display, wearing absolutely nothing but his customary shit-eating-grin, and SHE's the one dying of embarrassment. _

_Infuriating man._

_"See something you like, Detective?" he asks her, his eyes alight with mischief, as Kate's darken in anger at his damn fool attitude. _

"You're a lucky woman, Detective Beckett."

The voice is as unfamiliar as it is unexpected. Kate whirls around, coming face to face with yet _another _gorgeous companion.

"Excuse me?" she manages. Not the most polite response perhaps, but after the night she's had, she's running a little short on patience.

The smaller, dark-haired woman smiles just a little too graciously. "I feel like I know you a little. From Nikki Heat, the dedication," she prompts. Kate fights the urge to roll her eyes.

"Oh." is all Kate can say.

The companion continues smoothly, "I still read all of Rick's books."

Kate's anger flares again. The last thing she wants right now is to discuss 'Nicki Heat' with a complete stranger, yet, strangely, she feels the need to defend herself. "Yeah, well, most of that book is just a result of Castle's overactive imagination," she snaps, her mind going unbidden to the infamous page '105', and from there it jumps to the image of Castle's naked form. It does not improve her mood.

"It's funny that you call him that, "Castle." When I knew him, he was just "Rick," fresh off his first best-seller."

Kate's annoyance grows at the Companion's familiar manner. She doesn't even know this girl.

"And who are you, exactly?" Kate asks, pointedly.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! I assumed that Rick had told you. I'm Kyra Blane." The name doesn't ring a bell. Sensing Kate's confusion, Kyra explains further, "I trained with Rick."

Kate's eyes just about jump out of their sockets. Surely Kyra doesn't mean... It's common knowledge that Castle attended school at various madrassas around the Core. It's common for a child of a respected Companion such as Martha's. There are even a few notable core families who choose to send their children there instead of puting them in Alliance schools. Reputedly, they provide an excellent general education program, but the way Kyra said the word "_training_"... "Wait," Kate sputters, "you're saying that _Castle_ trained as a Companion!?"

Kyra nods, her eyes widening a little in surprise. "I assumed he had told you."

Kate shakes her head. "He's never mentioned it."

Kyra shrugs. "I suppose he wants to keep it out of the tabloids. He could be afraid that it might decrease his respectability as an author." The smaller woman sighs, as Kate scrambles to wrap her head around the concept. "It's a shame, really, that he decided not to pursue it," Kyra adds "He is _very_ talented."

"I don't doubt it," Kate breathes, almost to herself, as she contemplates her memory of Castle, naked as the day he was born, deliciously spread out before her.

Every. Glorious. Inch. Of. Him.

She had no idea that it was possible to blush quite so much in one evening.

Kyra keeps talking. She's either unaware of, or is politely ignoring Kate's embarrassment. "It's not all about physique you know, although Rick is certainly not lacking in that department either," and, to Kate's astonishment, the Companion actually has the gall to _wink _at her.

Kate's mind scrambles to find a less mortifying topic. "Don't many influential men of the Core have a ... problem ... in that area?" she blurts. She wonders idly how she's gotten herself into a conversation where the erectile dysfunctions of the social elite can be considered less mortifying than the alternative. Then again, she'd never imagined having a conversation about Castle's sexual education and prowess with a knowledgeable Companion either.

Weirdest. Day. Ever.

Kyra grins conspiritorally, "Why Detective Beckett, are you trying to wheedle guild secrets out of me?"

Kate ignores the innuendo, she is genuinely curious. It's something of an urban legend, and she wouldn't have given it a second thought if she hadn't seen for herself how the Alliance cracks down on anyone perpetuating it. If the Alliance denies it, they must be hiding something. She switches into interrogation mode as she contemplates her next attack, but Kyra pre-empts her with a light giggle.

"I'm just joking Detective. Rick told me that I should answer any of your questions honestly. I think his exact words were, 'She's going to figure it out anyway, so why waste time with evasions? Just tell her the truth and get it over with.'"

Kate's lips twitch upward. Of course, Castle would say something like that. "So, yes then?" she prompts.

"It actually ties into the origins of the Companion's Guild itself," Kyra tells her, seriously. "Please understand, we don't usually share this with outsiders..."

Kate nods and waits for the other woman to fill the silence.

After a brief hesitation, Kyra obliges. "When the ships from Earth first landed here, humanity didn't have an easy time of it. We were few, and the land was inhospitable for many years after our arrival."

Kate nods again, every school child knows this much.

"There was a real danger of extinction, so a few scientists got together and worked on developing a treatment that increased reproduction. They used a retrovirus to re-write parts of the settlers' DNA," Kyra explains.

Kate gasps, "That's so dangerous!"

Kyra nods. "That's why it's so heavily regulated nowadays, but things were different back then. For the most part, they succeeded."

"What went wrong?" Kate asks.

"Men." Kyra states simply. "Specifically their collective ego. As far as I understand it, the female scientists wanted to keep the formula simple. They focused on increasing the viability of the egg and sperm, and by extension, the fetus."

"Let me guess," Kate says, "the guys wanted to meddle."

"Bingo!" Kyra answers with a smile. Kate couldn't help returning it. She wasn't sure how, but Kate was beginning to like Kyra. For a Companion, she seems very ... real. She hadn't thought that Castle went for real. She files that thought away for later.

"So what did they try to change?"

Kyra's eyebrow quirks up, her eyes twinkling. "They were Men, what do you think?"

"No!" Kate says

"Yup." Kyra confirms.

"Let me get this straight," Kate says, "the human race was in danger of going extinct and these bastards allocated some of their very limited scientific resources in order to increase the size of their dicks?"

Kyra nods once more. "It sort of worked, too. It didn't really affect the first generation, but the trait was passed on to their children. Unfortunately for them, Karma is a bit of a bitch. The 'extra endowment' came at the expense of functionality."

Kate tilts her head curiously.

"As in, when one goes up, the other goes down," Kyra confirms.

Kate covers her mouth. Even Castle would agree that that is a classic example of irony. She realizes something else, "That's why the Companion's Guild exists!" Kyra confirms her guess.

Kate thinks back to Castle and his impressive ... attributes, "Wait, Castle doesn't...does he?"

"Nope, it all works." Kyra says bluntly and Kate can't believe that she has brought this up again.

Before the situation gets too uncomfortable, one of the doors to the hall opens and Rick's vejja steps out. "Ms. Beckett, there you are." She seems slightly annoyed.

"Lady Bimar," Kate says by way of greeting, "I didn't expect to see you ... so soon." She grimaces. "I was under the impression that Castle required your," she pauses, searching for words before finally settling on, "_immediate_ attention."

"He opted to take care of the situation on his own," the older woman replies tersely. Kyra giggles and earns herself a scathing glare from her matron. "Don't you have work to do, trainee Blayne?"

"If I want to become a vejja like you, sadly, yes," the Companion answers. She draws Kate into an impromptu embrace. "Please, don't leave without saying goodbye, Kate." The Detective agrees, and Kyra disappears back into the house.

Kate turns her attention to the healer. "Now," she says, "was there something you wanted?"

* * *

Additional Author's Note (/Rant):

Kyra's an exposition whore!

About the Companion thing: I want people to know that (almost) everything that happens in this story happens for a reason. Although it is inherently funny to think of Castle as a Companion, I am not writing it for laughs. I thought about this chapter a lot before I wrote it. I wasn't sure if I wanted to give VerseCastle Companion training and if so, how much. I had already decided that Martha was one, and that fact changes Castle's childhood quite a lot. I imagine that people in the Verse (at least in the Core) are not nearly as puritanical about sex as our society is. (In my story, some of that is due to the reproduction rate problems of the early settlers). Remember, just because he trained as one doesn't mean he's ever actually taken clients. For reasons that Kyra doesn't understand, he still _chose_ to be a writer.

The same sort of thing applies to the core elite's "affliction". It's not just a funny story. Also, remember the narrator. Kyra is a Companion, so of course she'll know the Guild's version of the tale. It happened at least 400 years prior, there could be other versions.

Oh, and Breath is set right after the "Last Call" episode of Castle (The one where he buys the Old Haunt). Obviously, "A Rose for Ever After" never happened, but the rest of the series is pretty much intact (until I decide otherwise). I hope that clears some things up.

I want to thank all my readers (especially those who reviewed!) once again. I really struggled with this chapter and you guys helped me push through it. (Ok, no more puns, I mean it this time). Please, share your thoughts with me on this work. Even if you don't agree with everything I've said, I want to hear it.

I know that this part is focused on Castle, but if you want to know more about Mal's side of the story you can read "Connection, on the Way to the Valley". It's set directly before "Spring" and explains a lot more about their connection.

Oh, and if you like this, don't be shy in recommending it to your friends. As ZannaKellett reminded me, crossovers are hard to promote.

I hope everybody has a great week!


	6. As We Lay Dying

Ok, this skips ahead in the timeline a bit, but my muse has been so fickle lately I'm willing to take what I can get. I'll finish the "Breath" storyline at some later date (I promise), but I hope you guys like this. It's a little weird, (even for me) but I hope it makes sense.

Oh yeah, Not Mine

* * *

Mal's heart freezes in his chest.

A most familiar voice, using an all too familiar tone, calls out to him.

"Malcolm Alexander Reynolds!"

Uh oh, she used the _middle_ name. He must be in trouble. He answers without thought. "Yes, Ma?"

"Were you raised in a barn? Shut that door! Storm's a-comin'."

He spins about, and sure enough, black clouds gather on the horizon. The mid-winter sunset holds plenty of color but little warmth. Long, dark shadows stretch across the plains, skeletal fingers scraping across the world that bears their name.

Night is falling.

He's Home.

He's so transfixed by the sight he almost misses her next command. "Make sure Rick knows where to hang his jacket, Mal. I know you just got here, but that ain't no reason to be inhospitable."

"Yes ma'am," he responds before adding, "No, ma'am." His head feels all fuzzy-like and he doesn't quite remember how he got here. Outside, the wind picks up, reminding him that he hasn't followed her initial instruction. He just manages to grab the door before it bangs into the wall. He wrestles it into its frame and drops the latch.

The wind howls, fearsome and impotent. It causes the timbers of the old ranch house to groan in protest.

He leads the other occupant of the room toward the hall, past the door frame that chronicles his childhood in a series of notches and dates carved into its worn surface. The man he assumes is Rick brushes his palm over the indentions as he passes. Mal notices that his guest's head matches the top mark.

How Odd.

Mal bristles at the other man's scrutiny as he places his browncoat on the peg.

"What?" Mal asks finally, as the silence becomes too much.

"Do I know you?" the blue-eyed stranger asks. The man's voice is cultured and low. _"Core bred,"_ Mal thinks sourly, _"wonderful."_

"Mal Reynolds," Mal says, offering his hand.

"Rick Castle," the other answers as he takes it.

The handshake drags on just a beat too long. Mal is struck by the strangest feeling that he knows this man, or should, or did... it's all kinda muddled in his head and uneasiness roils around in his gut. Mal swallows uncomfortably. The other man sports a pole-axed expression that wouldn't look amiss on Mal's own mug...

Wait...

"MAL!" his mother yells again, and the thought flees, half-formed, from his mind. "Dinner's on the table, make sure you wash up beforehand."

"Yes, Ma," he answers and turns towards the sink. Any other time it the fact that he had no recollection of leaving the hallway would worry him a bit, but at the moment, it escapes his notice. He reaches for the pump handle but pulls back when he sees just how filthy his hands have become. They're covered in black ichor and dirt and blood. He looks around for a rag or a towel or something to wipe the stain from his fingers and finds nothing. He can't let the substance foul his home, not now, so he stands dumfounded before the faucet.

"Here," Rick says, moving the handle up and down. "My hands are cleaner," he continues as water begins to flow at last.

Rick is right, his hands are cleaner (although not spotless), and Mal nods is appreciation. The water is so cold it burns, but Mal is determined to finish the job. If there's one thing his mother could never abide, it's dirty hands.

For some reason, he feels sad.

Despite his best efforts, some grime remains trapped under his nails. He continues to pick at it as Rick takes his turn at the sink.

"Maybe she won't notice?" Rick offers, hopefully.

Mal glares at him.

The other man's eyes actually sparkle as he grins maniacally. "You can do the Beckett glare!" he exclaims.

What the hell is a "Beckett"?

Before he can ask, his chest explodes with pain and the whole world ... wobbles more than a bit.

Something ain't right about this, but for the life of him he can't manage to figure out what.

* * *

Mal rocks the Beckett glare.

Ok, I totally stole this idea from a fic I read about Mal having a near death experience and going back to Shadow and snapping peas with his mom. If anyone knows the name of it, please tell me so I can credit the author! I think it's pretty obvious what Firefly episode this is from, but if I'm wrong and it's at all confusing, feel free to PM me. Heck, feel free to PM me anytime you feel like it, I love to talk to other fans!

I'm sorry this is so short, but like I said; the muse, she is flighty. At least I got to write them interacting this time! (sort of)

Help me lure my muse back with reviews!


	7. Induction

Okayyy...sorry about this. My muse is insane, apparently, and this is what she wanted me to write. It goes back in time to when Rick was 16 and had first been accepted into the Companion training program. This is the same story, I promise, it's just a little farther back than I've written before. I hope you guys like it though. I fully intend to go back and write an M rated version and post it separately at some later date, but at least I can put this in the regular story without changing the rating. At least this one is a complete story, not a cliffhanger or anything. I hope it makes sense.

I own only the parts that sprung fully formed from my twisted imagination. All hail Marlowe and Joss is Boss.

* * *

He's a good looking boy, she'll grant him that much. Tall, a little bit on the gangly side still, but he's growing out of it. His features are just now beginning to mesh with his nose, and for all the grooming he's learned in the past two years, a few stubborn pimples cling to it yet. There are hints, the barest hints in the ridge of his brow and the cut of his jaw that tell of the rugged handsomeness that he will one day possess.

It is in his eyes, however, that his true beauty lies. Rich as sapphires, deep as the sky at dusk, the blue orbs nevertheless hold a spark of humor, of mischief, that promises to keep him, and those who come to know him, forever young.

He's barely sixteen.

That's unusual. Actually, it's unheard of. The vast majority of applicants are at least a year older and many of them do not gain acceptance for several years after that, if ever.

He's surpassed them all.

Knowing his Mother, perhaps she shouldn't be so surprised. She completed her internship in less than a year, became a full priestess by twenty-five and was in the running for the highest guild office on Londinium a mere ten years later.

And then she disappeared.

For two years, no one heard anything from the great Martha Rogers. When she returned, with a one year old Richard on her hip, she offered no explanations, no excuses, just an announcement of semi-retirement so that she could "raise her son as he ought to be raised".

Whatever that meant.

It was a scandal. Although they can and do act as surrogates for infertile clients on occasion, very few Companions choose to have their own children, and none save Martha Rogers, personally raise them. At least, as far as she knows.

She hasn't come by any of this information first hand of course, that would be against tradition. The inductee must be completely unknown to his or her mentor. A 'clean slate', as it were.

"Welcome, Richard,to this place of Holy Union," she intones, her training taking over. She bows reverently, her hands folded as they should be. He returns the gesture, not quite as graceful but far more eager. "My name is Amrapali Bimar, and I am to be your Companion this evening."

"You honor me, Lady Bimar, for I am but a humble student come seeking knowledge of your art, and am undeserving of such attentions." It's the customary answer, but she is struck by his voice, soft and low, without a trace of the adolescent wavering so common at his age. That voice will serve him well in this profession, or any other she supposes.

She chastises herself silently for allowing the distraction. Tonight is about him, and extraneous thoughts are unprofessional, to say the least.

He is just a boy, after all.

"Your right to be here has been well-earned. You have been judged worthy of the art, and tonight you begin a journey that will join you to us in body, as you have already joined us in mind. In time, you will join us in spirit as well, and on that day I will proudly greet you as an equal, and call you brother".

"But not today," he quips, smirking.

And although his cheeky comment is not part of the ritual, she cannot help but smile at his boldness. "No," she answers, "not today".

They sit and share the tea, according to the tradition. She sees more of his quick wit and humor as they speak, their banter easy and unrestrained.

He's a natural.

He tells her how he tricked the examiners into allowing him to take the tests at only fifteen, pointing out, rightly, that just because no one has ever tried that young, doesn't mean that it's prohibited.

"Easier to beg forgiveness than ask permission," he asserts, and she can't help but agree. He must be nervous, everyone is, the first time, but he gives no sign of it. He is a consummate storyteller, drawing one in without being intrusive. He's teasing, without being cruel. Wo de tian a, this boy could sell ice on Saint Albans.

The tea is still warm when she takes his hand, and if she is slightly overeager, she will beg Bhudda's pardon with extra incense on the morrow.

But not tonight.

Tonight, it is all about him.

* * *

Mal jerks awake to a sweaty brow and sticky sheets. It's far from the first wet dream he's had, (he is a healty sixteen, after all) but it is, by far, the most intense. Unfamiliar smells and tastes linger on his toungue and in his mind as he slowly regains awareness of his true surroundings. His room on Shadow seems dull and lifeless compared to the vividness that clings to his thoughts.

It all felt so _real_.

Not that he would know. The farthest he's gotten is a quick peck on the lips, snatched behind the barn from Marry Anne Watkins, when her parents came a-visiting last fall. They had offered Ma their small plot and what little was on it that couldn't be moved off-world. Something about taxes and such. He'd never seen her again.

But he sure had enjoyed that kiss.

This dream had been a hundred times better.

Shaking his head to clear it, he changes the bedding as fast as he can. He's got a long day tomorrow, and he needs his rest.

Plus, there's a chance that, if he falls asleep quickly enough, he might just find that dream again.

He doesn't.

* * *

Wo de tian a: Dear God in heaven

* * *

I'd like to thank Purplangel for helping me brainstorm this weird little idea. I know you've had a bit of a day and I hope this makes you feel better honey! (Sorry for the lack of smut though, just not feeling it tonight).

Oh, and have I mentioned that I don't mind reviews? I don't. At All.

Thanks for reading!


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